Casting Lines
by yesterdaymorning
Summary: AU / Clara is a primary school teacher, and he is the single father of her favourite pupil. Clara swore she wouldn't get involved, but it's getting harder and harder to keep that promise to herself, the closer she gets to the mysterious man known as The Doctor. / Various Doctor Who characters in AU settings.
1. Chapter 1

**Notes**: Betad by the ever lovely Leah (tennantsrose on tumblr, Justsmile1 on here) You may have seen this floating around on the whouffle tag already, but I've been persuaded to put it up here too.  
**Genre**: Human AU. **Clara as a primary school teacher, Eleven as a single father.**  
**Summary**: At Little Heath Primary School, the last thing Clara expects is to be drawn to the moody and slightly eccentric father of her favourite pupil. She swore she was never going to let her work interfere with her life, but as they get closer, how long is that promise going to hold?  
**Rated**: T (for now)

**Chapter One**  
To say it had been a long day would be something of an understatement. Clara gathered up the debris of of her last period class with tired limbs, tutting at the glitter covering every conceivable surface. She sorted which of the kids' work was salvageable and which she'd have to tactfully dispose of and explain away later, smiling at their handiwork. An hour of collage making had seemed like such a great idea this morning as she was punching in and going over her plans for the day, but now there were glue sticks everywhere and bits of paper strewn like snowflakes across the classroom. In short, the place was a tip and Clara wanted nothing more than to sit down with a cup of tea, watch some god-awful soap and then maybe fall asleep on the sofa.

Her meeting with the head of her new school had gone terribly- Clara had stuttered her way through it, stumbling over most of her answers. Mrs Archer had only been checking her progress with handling her new position as the new year three teacher- or that was the premise of the meeting- but the woman had a way of peering over the top of her glasses at Clara that made her feel like a quivering seven year old being sent to the head's office, instead of a perfectly capable twenty-four year old. It was unnerving, when in reality she was a fully grown twenty four year old woman with a proper job and a degree now and everything. Of course, she'd already gotten the job and Mrs Archer was only there to provide Clara was afraid she'd come across as a tad inept. All she could hope was that she displayed the same enthusiasm and love of young minds that got her the job in the first place, and wait and see if her weekly updates improved to the point she could get articulate full sentences out.

Her attention snapped back to her wreck of a classroom when, bending to wipe down a table, she stepped on a paint tube lying hidden against a chair leg, sending red paint shooting up her black boots and across the carpet. Predictably the lid had not been screwed on. And she knew just the little monster who had been using it. She restrained from cursing the kid, and groaning, stepped out of the puddle of paint and looked around for something to use as damage control.

Other than paper towels she drew a blank. Really, she needed Rory, because as the teaching assistant assigned to her class, the two of them had become very good friends very quickly. Rory was sweet and very patient (with the kids and her equally), easy to talk to, and a general blessing in a new school full of rather stuck up middle aged teachers. He was also the fountain of all school related knowledge giving her an 'insiders' tour of the tiny grounds, pointing out where all the supplies were and giving advice on where to sit in the staffroom to avoid pissing off certain members of staff, for which Clara was very grateful.

Rory'd been there a couple of years already, and Clara had been informed she was a very welcome change to the previous teacher of her class, who apparently had sported a rather nice moustache- _not that she could help it, but still_… Rory had hastened to add. The school had been missing in young life and he had been a bit lacking in friends of his age bracket until she applied. And Rory always made her a cup of tea in the morning. Unfortunately Wednesdays were his days off to visit his Dad, so she was on her own.

Or so she thought. She was still inspecting the ruined state of her leather boots when a shuffling sound from just outside her classroom made her stop and pause. She kicked off her shoe to stop trailing red paint through the carpet and padded over to the doorway, peering through the glass.

Sitting on the tiled floor of the corridor was a very fed up looking girl, her knees drawn up to her chest and crossed arms resting on top of them. She was staring at the classroom door with a petulant look gracing her small features, her little pointy chin jutting out in a moody manner. Crazy brunette corkscrew curls painted a halo around her head barely contained in a messy ponytail. There was no mistaking the little girl sitting sulking in the empty school hallway.

Clara frowned and stuck her head round the door.

"Alexis, are you okay?"

The seven-year-old's head jerked upwards, and when she saw who was addressing her she grunted and let her arms uncross, turning to look at her teacher with a bored expression. Clara stepped round the door.

'What're you doing down there?' she questioned, an amused smile pulling at her lips at Alexis' position on the floor, schoolbag slung next to her, school books spilling out. "Hasn't anyone come to pick you up yet?"

The little girl shook her head and sighed, before her bottom lip protruded in a pout. "Daddy said he was coming, but he's not here. He's always late though so I just have to wait a bit."

Clara's smile dropped and she glanced at her watch. School had finished half an hour ago and every other pupil had been picked up by tired looking parents and carted home.

"Don't you want to come in? I can get you some juice until your Dad arrives?"

Alexis shrugged. "It's okay. I normally wait out here. He'll be here soon, I think."

"You don't do this everyday, do you Alexis?"

"Most days. I don't mind, not really. I just get bored, you know?"

Clara laughed and stuck out her hand, wiggling her fingers invitingly. "C'mon, we can find something to do until your Daddy arrives, yeah? And maybe find a proper chair for you to sit on?"

Alexis allowed herself to smile back and started shoving stuff back in her bag, pulling herself off the floor when she was done. 'Okay.'

"Great!"

Alexis followed her back into the classroom and giggled at the sight in front of them both.

"You made a mess," she laughed.

"Oi, Missy, this was all you lot. Fancy helping me clear up? Let's make it a challenge- we have to finish before you have to go."

Alexis groaned, pretending like she was going to refuse but when Clara waggled her eyebrows she smiled and dropped her bag at the door.

"I bet I can do it faster than you, Miss Oswald," she added cheekily.

Clara had to keep her chuckle inside at the girl's determination to make everything a competition. She'd noticed in the last week that Alexis was constantly striving to be the best in whatever she was doing, whether it was English lessons or simply running around in the playground.

"You're on."

Alexis started tearing around the classroom, throwing bits of card and paper in the bin and sweeping the glitter back into its tub. She was strangely proficient for how quick she was being and Clara smiled and watched for a second, impressed, before returning her attention to her attempt to blot the red paint.

She was in the middle of transforming it into a soupy red mess, on her hands and knees, and trying to swear under her breath so Alexis didn't hear, when there was knock on the door. It caught her by surprise and she jumped, her head colliding with the underside of the table painfully before she collapsed back to the ground, rubbing her head. Alexis had thrown the door open with a cry of 'Daddy!' and was now hugging a very startled looking man, frozen in the doorway. His long arms came to wrap around his daughter's shoulders on instinct, but his eyebrows shot up at the sight of Clara sprawled underneath a table, red paint splattered up her dress.

"Umm, are you okay?"

"Oh! Umm…" Mortified, she sat up and struggled to her feet, her head pounding. She attempted to brush down her clothes and quickly stopped when it only made matters worse. "I'm fine! Absolutely fine! Sorry, I was just…clearing up."

"So I see….."

The man in the doorway, evidently Alexis' father, looked like he was trying not to laugh. His lips twisted into a smile at Clara's flushed face, and before she knew it, she was bursting into laughter and his chuckles mixed with her own.

"I bet I look a right state, don't I?" she laughed.

He attempted to school his features, but failed miserably, ending up smirking anyway.

"Little bit. Did you also know you're missing a shoe?"

Clara glanced down at her stocking covered foot and blushed, still giggling. "Ah yeah, I'd forgotten about that."

"Quite understandable. I do it all the time," he chuckled, the neatly combed quiff wobbling as his shoulders shook. Clara couldn't help noticing (and yes checking out parents was wrong, but what's a single girl going to do?) that he was very good looking- in a odd sort of way, she supposed. His face was all finely sculpted cheekbones and a chin that could poke your eye out- but it fitted him perfectly. His face looked young, strong and worldly. His solid jaw made him look thoughtful and intelligent, too. An untraditional sort of handsome that worked with his clothes; a button up shirt pushed up the elbows, braces and a scarlet bow tie. Who wore bow ties these days? Obviously he did, and she begrudgingly admitted that it suited him. Very much. Her blush returned.

She took a step forward and recollected her thoughts. "Well I'll try not to make a habit of it like you then. Sorry, I'm Miss Oswald, Alexis' teacher. You must be her father."

He smiled and pulled a now restless looking Alexis to his side and ruffled her curls. She rolled her eyes.

"Unfortunately, yes, this one's mine. Fancy having her?"

Clara laughed, but Alexis wriggled out of his arms. "Daad!" she whined. He patted her on the head.

"I'm sorry I was late to pick her up. Work stuff has been mad. We really better head home."

Clara nodded understandingly. "Of course. That's fine. Alexis already helped me clear up anyway." She gave Alexis an over-exaggerated wink. "It was nice meeting you, Mr Song."

It was as if a storm cloud had entered the room. Immediately the change in his mood was noticeable. A shadow fell across his face and he grimaced, his hand falling away from his daughter. All of sudden Clara could notice amongst his handsome features the thin lines around his eyes, the greyish tinge under them, the deep worried wrinkles in his forehead. He shuffled backwards, edging out the door.

His voice was short and devoid of the laugher it had held a few seconds ago. "Actually, that's just my daughter's name. Not mine."

Clara, noticing this dramatic change in demeanour frowned and scrambled to fix her mistake, whatever it had been.

"Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to assume, I just-"

He grit his teeth, dropping his eyes from her to the floor, already halfway out the door. "No don't worry about. But we really have to go. Lex- Alexis, come on."

He turned abruptly and disappeared down the corridor. Alexis froze, glancing back to her Dad with wide eyes and then to her very confused looking teacher.

"Umm, bye Miss Oswald," she said finally, giving Clara a small wave. She waved half-heartedly back and watched Alexis scamper out the door, leaving a thoroughly confounded Clara staring after them both.

What a strange man. He hadn't even properly corrected her on his name, if that was what bothered him so much, she realised as she went back to stacking paint pots. A mystery man, then. Clara thought back to his dramatic exit and found herself spending the rest of the evening debating just what secret he had to keep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes**: The second chapter is up. Hope you enjoy. Betad by Leah.  
**Genre**: Human AU. Clara as a primary school teacher, Eleven as a single father.  
**Summary**: At Little Heath Primary School, the last thing Clara expects is to be drawn to the moody and slightly eccentric father of her favourite pupil. She swore she was never going to let her work interfere with her life, but as they get closer, how long is that promise going to hold?  
**Rated**: T (for now)

**Chapter Two**  
Clara leant on the counter of the cramped staff room kitchen, watching as Rory flung open cupboards pulled down two chipped mugs and stuck a teabag in each. He turned to face her once he flicked the kettle on, his eyebrows raised.

"So he just walked out?"

Clara's fingers drummed on the worktop. "Yeah. It was the strangest thing."

"Maybe he needed to get home?" Rory suggested, shrugging.

"Well he did, he said so, but like it wasn't him leaving, it was the way he did it, you know, all sudden like."

She pursed her lips and Rory pulled a confused looking face, turning to tend to the tea. Clara sighed in frustration. Alexis' father had certainly made an impact on her, that was for certain. She'd gone home the night before, intent on watching some TV and then planning a couple of lessons before retiring to bed. She'd made it half way through an episode of Law and Order before her concentration wavered, sending her right back to thinking about the handsome man and his odd mood swing. And she didn't have the faintest idea why it was bothering her so much. Maybe it was because, as a person, she knew she was fairly good at figuring people out- what they wanted, what made them smile, how she could best talk to them and help them out. It was why she was so good at making friends. Maybe she was guilty of placing people in boxes, because this man had thrown her a curveball that she just wasn't expecting.

Rory tipped in some milk to the mugs and rolled his eyes at her worrying. "I don't know Clara. Bad days, they happen to everyone you know. Except Clara, the girl wonder, of course."

Clara groaned at his teasing (he had once professed she was annoyingly good at everything, except maybe making souffles, but named her the girl wonder anyway) and accepted the giant mug of hot tea he slid in her direction gratefully, cradling it to her chest.

"Oi, yesterday was awful- you weren't there to help me clear up the art stuff!"

Rory grimaced. "Good job. I obviously have impeccable timing."

She hit him gently on the arm, unable to stop her smile spreading, but almost as quickly as it had occurred, it slipped a little.

"…You know maybe it was me. Maybe he didn't like the look of me or something."

Rory put his cup of tea down very firmly to emphasise his point. "Seriously Clara? Just forget it. And everyone likes you. You have this weird mind persuasion thing I swear, it's impossible not to."

She struggled to keep in her laughter at Rory's attempt to reassure her. "So you're saying I brainwash my friends, are you?" She pretended to be angry and for a split second she could see the panic in Rory's eyes, terrified that he offended her; but he realised she was having him on and shook his head, smiling.

"Cheers, though, Rory."

"Anytime." He glanced down at his shoes for a second before looking back up. "What are you doing with the kids today?"

Clara sighed deeply. "Geography and Maths, God help me."

"And how's your long division, Clara?" he teased.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Oh, shh, I'm fine. And if not a calculator is a thing, you know."

"Want me to be there to help?"

"…Yes please."

/

The maths class had been a success, actually, if Clara did say so herself. Rory had stepped in when she was truly floundering, _and_ she only had to hide her calculator under her desk twice. Something of a record.

The kids had understood it, mostly, resorting to flinging crayons across the classroom when they didn't, which was only to be expected. Alexis, however, had sat in the corner of the classroom, her arms crossed firmly on her chest, looking every inch completely and utterly bored. It was only when Clara went over to gently remind that she needed to complete the worksheet that she found that she'd done it all- and not a number crossed out.

"It's so easy that even my gerbil could do it, Miss," she drawled, beginning to doodle on the edge of her paper.

And that, Clara supposed, was her told.

Now Alexis was completing a year five maths booklet, happily scrawling away, pausing every now and again to bite the end of her pencil thoughtfully, as Clara watched her over the screen of her laptop. Clara was at a bit of a loss as to what do with the kid. She was obviously beyond intelligent and if her sassy answer was anything to go by, she wasn't going to like being stuck in year three level maths lessons for much longer.

Clara had given her the maths papers while they waited for her father. She sighed, pausing in typing out an email to the head of year. She was going to have to talk to her father about the possibility of extended lessons, or moving Alexis' up a class, and that meant speaking to the man and risking any further mood swings.

This time, when the knock on the door sounded and Alexis went flying to the door, Clara remained at her desk, swinging to face the doorway with a polite smile on her face. He wasn't watching, however, bending down to hug his daughter and gather up her school things, laughing as she whispered things in his ear, and then ran up the corridor.

Today, he'd adopted a coat to add to his unusual attire. It was purple, fine looking tweed and very long, reaching to his knees and billowing outwards. The eccentricity made Clara forget what she was going to say, her smile freezing in place as she groped for the words that slipped her mind. Yet again, like the bow tie, something that just shouldn't work…did. It made him look stately and gentlemanly, and Clara really shouldn't be thinking that when she needs to talk seriously about his daughter's education.

She snapped out of it, forcing herself out of the chair before he could chase after his daughter.

"Wait! Mr…."

Again, damn that man.

"Sir!"

He wheeled around, his coat flapping around his waist as he did so.

"Me?"

She nearly scowled, but changed her mind at the last minute. His eyes were green. She had always been a sucker for green eyes. So instead she just gestured an arm to the empty space around them and raised an amused eyebrow. "Now who else am I talking to?"

His eyes darted around and then came to settle back on her face, smiling slightly. "Point well made. I'm sorry, I've got to go after Alexis, she's run off on me, and-"

This time she did frown. "It's a small school, she'll be fine. And I need to talk to you about Alexis."

His smile plunged, falling quickly off his face. "Oh dear, what's she done? God knows she can be cheeky, but I didn't really think it was a problem, but I don't know maybe teachers are tight on that short of thing, or maybe got in a fight with another kid? She's got a lot of energy, likes to stand up for herself, maybe get a bit of a punch in…' His arm flailed awkwardly in the air for a moment and Clara reflexively took a step back. He noticed and sighed, dropping his arm back down to his side 'She's a good kid really, I promise."

She crossed her arms, stunned at his bizarrely rapid rambling to finish. "Actually no, Alexis is fine, but I'll take all that into consideration for the future."

He let out a sigh of relief, the tension in his shoulders visibly dropping. "Really? Then what's this about, hey?"

Clara jabbed a thumb back to the classroom. "Do you have five minutes? Maybe we can get past introductions and I'll tell you about Alexis?"

His eyebrows furrowed and he looked back up the corridor hesitantly.

"I should-"

"She'll be fine."

"I don't-"

"Five minutes."

"What about-"

"I'm not letting this go."

Finally, his face broke out into a reluctant smile and he nodded, to which Clara returned with a triumphant smile.

"After you, then," he said, holding open the door. She didn't even have to duck under his arm to walk through.

She perched on top one of the tables, not wanting this to be all formal, ignoring the fact that her feet didn't even touch the floor. She motioned to the table opposite her and he leant against it obligingly.

"So, umm, maybe we got off on the wrong foot yesterday, or something. I'm Miss Oswald, like I said, but seriously, just call me Clara."

There was hint of a crooked smile in return, his arms coming to cross over his chest, like he was making himself comfortable.

"So umm, that's me. What about you? What can I call you?"

His arms tightened instantly, and his feet shuffled backwards, making him lose his relaxed position. There was beat of silence when Clara was afraid she done it _again_, that he'd just up and walk out, when he spoke through tight lips.

"Doctor. You call me The Doctor."

She blinked. "Sorry, what? The Doctor? Excuse me if I'm being rude, but don't you have a name?"

His face hardened even more, and he refused to look her in the eyes, staring resolutely at the carpet. "No, I have a name, I just choose not to use it. It reminds me of…things, people…that I don't want to be reminded of. I'm The Doctor and nothing else."

Clara swallowed, physically forcing her many questions back down her throat. Another thing to add to the mystery, another thing to think about at night- this strange man with such a bright daughter.

"Okay, then, _Doctor_. I want to talk to you about Alexis."

His head snapped up, his eyes narrowed still, as if trying to calculate her. "You do? Still?"

She nodded tightly. "Alexis is far too clever for my teaching, basically. She's finding the year three stuff far too easy, and I'd ask her to be moved up a year, but the powers that be say that would be too disruptive, so I'm asking your permission to give Alexis extra homework and content in class to compensate. Is that okay?"

"She's clever is she?"

"Extraordinarily so."

Once again a slow smile started pulling at the corners of his lips. "Oh, yes, she would be, mother like hers."

His eyes no longer seemed like they were seeing her, instead they were infected by a nostalgic glint, as The Doctor remembered, his smile tinged with the hint of sadness of time in the past.

Clara felt her heart clench at the far-away look in his eyes, and thought about Alexis waiting everyday for her daddy to come and collect her, with never a mother in sight, when all her other classmates were being swept into soft awaiting arms, and happy female smiles.

"I'm so sorry."

His eyes snapped back to hers, and he frowned, the lines in his forehead deepening.

"What do you mean?"

Clara hesitated, her tongue tripping over the words, wondering if she was prying, but being unable to bite down.

"Alexis' mother, I'm sorry you lost her. Losing someone that close to you should never be allowed- it's too painful."

If she saw the tears stinging in the corner of his eyes, she wasn't going to mention them. Instead, he scowled at her.

"And you would know, would you?"

She repelled at the anger and sadness in his face, the vehemence with which he shot her the question. Her answer was short and firm, and she looked him straight in the eyes, her own burning.

"Yes."

His eyebrows contracted in surprise, and he breathed in sharply, Clara could hear the air echoing down his windpipe.

"Well then, I'm sorry too." His answer was curt, and Clara blinked in surprise at his short tone.

He turned to leave, his coat swishing, but she called out just as he was striding out the door.

"Loneliness might be preferable, but it isn't advisable, Doctor."

She had no idea if he listened at all.

* * *

An: I hope I'm keeping them in character, obviously Eleven is in his dark stage and we're beginning to find out why. Enjoying it? Please leave me some of your thoughts!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes**: Betad by Leah, as per. She's great. I can't even apologize for how long this took, but here's an update.  
**Genre**: Human AU. Clara as a primary school teacher, Eleven as a single father.  
**Rated**: T (for now)

**Chapter Three**

This time he wasn't late. Clara was on playground duty, stepping in after the year six maths teacher had forced her in the staffroom at lunchtime, prattling on about how new teachers should take responsibility, and really she was given no other option than to agree. The biting September wind made her shiver and she wrapped her thin cardigan around her side, cursing the fact that her coat was still stuffed in her locker and the teacher had pushed her out the door before she'd had the opportunity to go and get it. The kids, all bundled up in ear muffs and fingerless gloves, were running around as a way to kill the time before they were collected.

Alexis had followed them, in her red, slightly worn duffle coat, but she only started running when her father appeared at the school gate; grinning and headed in her direction. He met Alexis in the middle, a bundle of hugging limbs in the centre of the playground and Clara couldn't help smiling at the sight, especially when The Doctor picked Alexis up from under the armpits and spun her around, her feet flying outwards as she laughed delightedly. They both collapsed in a fit of giggles and he took Alexis' hand and started swinging her along as they headed back to the gate. Despite the dark, overcast clouds, there was sunshine in his eyes.

It was such a stark contrast from previous visits that Clara found herself calling out to him, wanting to see if his reaction to her would differ too. Before she knew what she was doing her feet were tripping her forwards.

"Doctor!"

The gate swung shut behind him as he turned to face her, his smile faltering a second before reappearing, as bright as before.

"Clara," he replied, walking forwards slightly to stand in front of her, Alexis hanging from his fingertips.

"Hi, Miss Oswald!" She chimed, her father's happiness apparently infectious.

"Hi, Alexis" Clara replied warmly. "Umm do you think I could borrow your Dad for a minute? I just want to chat to him about some things."

The Doctor raised an eyebrow, but let Alexis slip out of his grasp, and she nodded, chirping "Okay!" before giving her father a brief hug around the knees and running back over to her friends.

"Is she alright?" The Doctor prompted, when Clara found herself watching the colour in his cheeks, the spark in his eye that hadn't been there before, instead of talking. His fringe swept over his face in the gusts of wind and he shook it away, raising an eyebrow. "Miss Oswald?"

"Oh! Oh, she's fine!" She swallowed down a breath and smiled brightly, "I was just wondering if _you_ think she was doing okay with all the extra stuff?"

He tucked his hands into the pocket of his coat and rocked back onto his heels and grinned, in an almost childlike manner that made Clara smile. This was a young man, not an age weary father, and two seemed to merge together far too often in the straight set of his lips, or the lines etched into the plain of his face- the expression his face fell into when he wasn't smiling. But for now, he was.

"Yeah, she loves it, I think. Couldn't get her to stop doing maths questions last night, actually, right before bed and everything."

"Well, that's great!"

"Not when she won't go to bed!" His eyes twinkled as he sought out the sight of his daughter in the playground before facing Clara again, his face mock stern. "Have you tried telling a seven year old to go to sleep recently? It's very difficult."

The chattering of her teeth that she'd been trying to suppress changed to laughter and The Doctor joined her, the edges of his eyes relaxing into warm crinkles.

"No, but I have tried telling seven year olds other things that they don't want to do. The reaction is probably very similar, right?"

"Touché." he replied, nodding his head in her direction. Her lips twitched into a wider smile.

"I see the hospital let you out early today then?"

His eyebrows jumped up. "Have you been doing background research, Miss Oswald?"

She flushed, even though she had nothing to be embarrassed by. _So_ she had considered pulling out Alexis' file to try and make sense of this man, his real name perhaps, but something stopped her; maybe a respect for his privacy or a weird sense of shattering his illusion of sorts. Her hand hovered over the filing cabinet only to be retracted hurriedly, every time.

She hoped he couldn't distinguish between her blush and the redness to her cheeks the cold was causing.

"No, I just assumed," she admitted. "Doctor? Where else would you work?"

"Ah, I see you're a master of deduction then." Mostly his face was straight, but there was no doubting the laughter behind his words, whether good natured or not, now she wasn't sure. She pulled up her shoulders determinedly, flicking her hair over her shoulder in the process.

"Yes, well, you seemed intent on keeping up the Mr Mysterious persona, so I had to make my own guesses."

His face flickered to something between a smile and a grimace for the briefest of seconds before it was neatly rearranged.

"Oh, you did, did you?" A hint of teasing and something darker, like a….warning- that she wasn't taking head of.

"Yes. Am I wrong?" she answered, jutting out her chin. She felt the need to defend herself all of sudden, and once again, an innocent conversation had changed direction in a blink of an eye. His green eyes seemed to darken.

"Partially. I don't work at the hospital- I volunteer there, actually. I'm only late most days because I'm called in when they need me, and they're short of staff these days. And I find it difficult to leave patients I'm tending to. Make of that what you will. Alexis' understands, though."

Clara's arms fell away from where they've been hugging her sides, and the hint of anger she'd felt creeping up her spine dissipated. "You- must care a lot."

That sad smile crept over his features again, and Clara found herself wanting to wipe it away, trace a genuine smile, like the one she saw not ten minutes ago, back onto his lips.

"Too much, perhaps." His throat wobbled as he swallowed, hinting at stories Clara wasn't sure she wanted to hear, about the awful things she was sure he'd seen. "But to answer your question- today is my day off, and I'd like to spend it with my daughter." He waved to Alexis who came skidding back over, latching onto his outstretched palm. "See you later, Clara."

He turned and led his daughter out of the school grounds and down the street, and Clara watched them fall into step beside each other, wondering why conversations with him always left her feeling like she'd tripped over a tree root and had the wind knocked out of her.

/

Twenty minutes later all the kids had finally gone home, and with goosebumps covering her arms, Clara stumbled into the staff kitchen to find Rory sat on the counter top, a cup of tea all ready for her by his side.

"Well, you look a picture."

"Yeah, thanks Rory."

Rory quirked an eyebrow at her lack of catty response and jumped off the counter top, pushing the cup of tea into her frigid fingers.

Cold emenated from the spot where his fingers brushed against hers and he pulled back sharply."Jesus, Clara you're like half frozen!"

"Mmmhmmm," was all she could manage in between slurps of scalding hot tea- the burn in the back of throat a pleasant change to the numbness that had crept up on her outside.

"Why didn't you wear a coat?"

She rolled her eyes violently. "Oh, gosh, however did I manage to forget the one thing that might keep me from freezing my butt off?"

Rory jumped back, offering up his hands. "Okay, sarcasm. I deserved that. What happened?"

Clara sighed. "Sorry, Rory, it's not you. Teacher wouldn't let me go get my coat, said I didn't have time, and i listened and I stood talking outside without it, so I guess I'm to blame too." She cradled the hot tea to her chest gratefully. "Thanks for boiling the kettle."

Rory simply nodded. "You could've texted me to go get it, you know."

"Didn't think, but seriously, it's fine, Rory."

He stepped forward again, rubbing his hands up the length of her arms in attempt to get the goosebumps to disappear. When all it did was rumple Clara's dress his hands fell away and he grimaced apologetically. Clara gave him a small smile and shrugged, turning away to tidy up the counter. She could feel Rory still stood directly behind her.

"Who were you talking to out there anyway?"

She replied without thinking. "The Doctor."

"Come again?"

Rory's face was folded in confusion when she whirled around, and she mentally ticked herself off. She couldn't go referring to him like that, she'd sound crazy- as Rory's perplexed face already evidenced- but it's not like she had much choice in the matter either.

She settled for: "Alexis' Dad."

Recognition washed over his face. "Oh, the fella with the odd coat?" He bit his lip, eye contact slinking to the tiled floor, feet shuffling. He mumbled, almost discernibly. "I may or may not have been watching out the window."

Clara raised an eyebrow, but let it slide, and Rory continued rambling in hopes of glossing over his blunder.

"Looked a bit mad, if you ask me, wearing an old coat like that. Strange face, too."

Clara smirked at the embarrassed look on his face and his description of The Doctor, similar to her own, but quite obviously Rory didn't see the charm or intrigue in his unusual features.

"Yeah well, his clothes match him. Can't seem to have a normal conversation with him either."

Rory shrugged. "Some parents are just strange. Been there, experienced that, believe me. You get used to it."

Clara started to protest, whilst dumping used mugs into the sink. "No, it's not that. He's not strange as such, just…." She couldn't find the words to describe the confusion The Doctor caused her, so let her speech fall away, sighing. "Well, anyway, I'm heading home. Thanks for the cuppa, Rory. See you later."

He gave her a small wave as she left, kind of dorky but endearing, just as she walked out the door. "Bye, Clara," he called, before she was out of ear shot.

* * *

AN: I just couldn't leave Rory out of this fic, I love him too much. Hope you like the update. But slow moving at the moment, but it will pick up pace, promise.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes**: Betad by Leah of course. This chapter is quite long, and I really hope you think it's okay, because it's a bit different from the others.  
**Genre**: Human AU. Clara as a primary school teacher, Eleven as a single father.  
**Summary**: At Little Heath Primary School, the last thing Clara expects is to be drawn to the moody and slightly eccentric father of her favourite pupil. She swore she was never going to let her work interfere with her life, but as they get closer, how long is that promise going to hold?  
**Rated**: T (for now)

* * *

**Chapter Four**

Rory's apartment was just a bit smaller than hers, one floor of a lovely old Victorian building right round the corner from the school. And she had to hand it to him; for a guy living alone he kept the place extraordinarily neat- everything had it's place, from the stuffed bookshelf in the sitting room to the neatly organised, if sparse, kitchen.

She dropped her bag on the floor and sunk into one of his armchairs, listening as his voice echoed out of the kitchen and down the narrow hall, idle chat about the school that she could absorb and not have to comment on.

He appeared in the doorway, clutching a platter of food and drinks, and set them down on the coffee table in front of her.

"- so anyway, I'm really glad you decided to come."

She chuckled and tucked her hair behind her ear, smiling up at him. "So am I."

His cheeks flushed red and he ducked his head, focussing instead on the copious amount of food he'd just bought in.

"Umm, I wasn't sure what you liked…so I just went ahead and got everything."

"Yeah, I can see that," she teased.

Bowls of olives, crisps, nuts and a lot more were crammed onto the plate until it was overflowing. She took an olive and popped it into her mouth, before grimacing and swallowing with difficulty, the food getting stuck in her throat.

Rory panicked, instantly bending down next to her. "Clara what is it? I haven't poisoned you have I?"

She splutteredfor a few seconds, and Rory looked ready to pull her to her feet and perform the Heimlich manoeuvre if that's what it took, until she forced it down and coughed.

"Woah, it's okay, Rory, calm down!" she exclaimed, laughing at the look of relief on that transformed Rory's face when she began to speak. "I just thought I could persuade myself that I like olives. Turns out, I can't." She smiled apologetically apologetically, leaning forward to take a handful of crisps. She froze mid-air, her fingers tight around a few crisps when she noticed Rory hadn't moved from his position in front of his chair.

"What?"

Rory's mouth wasgaped open. "Clara! I thought you were dying!"

"Oh. Nope, still very much alive, thanks."

"If you didn't like olives, you could have just said!"

Her nose wrinkled. "I didn't want to hurt your feelings."

"They would have hurt a lot more if you'd choked to death in my house!"

"Rory, relax, I'm fine!" she giggled. He made a harrumphing noise and dropped onto the sofa opposite her.

"So, you were saying, before you mistakenly thought I was taking my last breaths?"

Rory half scowled at her and shrugged his shoulders. "I can't remember now."

Not wanting to risk the conversation running out, Clara searched the room around her, eyes alighting on a rather large dvd collection by the bay window, and grinned. .

"How about we stick a movie on?"

"Yeah?"

"Uh-huh. You chose one. I like most stuff."

A couple of minutes later Rory stuck an old John Wayne classic in the machine and let the opening credits roll. Clara had moved over to the sofa so she could see the screen, and he dithered for a second before sitting back down next to her.

"John Wayne was my Dad's favourite," he explained. Clara just nodded and reached for the snacks, steering well clear of the olives this time.

About twenty minutes into the movie, however, and Clara was getting 'd never been to Rory's house before, and little details of the room kept on catching her attention- the knick-knacks on the windowsill, and the slightly wilted pot plant in front of the fireplace, all so very Rory-like. She knew she should be paying attention to the movie, or at least the man next to her, but her mind kept skittering away to worry about other things. The room was filled with a heavy kind of silence she wasn't used to when she was around him. It pressed against the walls, and she could tell, just from it's presence, that the atmosphere was different from how she and Rory usually were. She wasn't used to it, and she didn't like it, but it was if awkwardness had crept through the space under the door when neither of them were movie continued to blur in front of her eyes.

They were on a date. She was lying to herself if she called it anything else. Rory had cornered her after school that evening, just as she was reaching her car, and stammered out an invitation to meet up at his place later. He looked so eager and cute, his hair being ruffled by the afternoon breeze, and she really didn't want to hurt him, so she'd agreed. His face splitting grin as he scrawled down his address for her nearly broke her heart.

She liked Rory, she really did. He was funny and kind and lovely, and her made her feel comfortable, like she was perfect in her own skin. She'd moved into the town completely alone, where everyone she saw on the street swept along in a sea of strangers; Rory was a friendly face, one she couldn't do without, so getting ready at her own house, she'd decided she was going to make this work. She fixed her hair, smoothed out her dress and told herself, that for both of their sakes, she could fall in love with Rory Williams.

Maybe.

Possibly.

Given enough time.

Rory was brilliant, perfect even, at making her feel safe. But Rory was Rory. If he was ever going to sweep her off her feet, he would have done it by now. He was warm and lovely and everything a sensible girl should want. Which left her with the conclusion, that maybe she wasn't as sensible as she should be. She wanted a streak of something else, someone to keep her on her toes, someone to think about late at night, a person to overtake her mind. Someone mysterious, but loving. Dangerous but like being home at the same time. Someone like, if she knew him better, The Doc-

No. No, she wouldn't think that. Like she said, she didn't even know the man. He was trouble, that much was clear. Moody and unpredictable at best, hiding god knows what from everyone around him. The Doctor was a step too far, and besides she _couldn't_ think of him like that- it wasn't approved of and she didn't know the first thing about him. She pushed it to the the back of her mind, firmly, into a box labelled 'Ignore.' It didn't stay sealed for very long.

It had been two days since she'd seen him last, since the revelation about where he worked, and the tense conversation they'd had about it. The weather had degressed into a near constant film of rain again, so the kids waited inside for their parents/ The Doctor had also regressed into being late again. Alexis was left after all the kids had disappeared, but she had taken to roaming the corridors again, ignoring Clara's incessant suggestions that she come inside and sit down. This meant that Clara would poke her head out of the door minutes later to find Alexis gone, and no sign of The Doctor, not a hello, or even a goodbye. And if she felt hurt by this, she wouldn't even admit to herself. She wondered how she could feel sp drawn to and confounded by a simple man. She had the distinct impression that The Doctor had instructed Alexis to start waiting outside the classroom again, just to avoid contact with her. What had she done to make him do this? Was asking about his work stepping over some invisible line she wasn't aware of? If so, how the hell was she ever meant to get to know this man better at all? All she could feel was sad about it- that The Doctor thought isolation and avoidance were the solutions to whatever problems he had, when in reality, she knew they were only ever going to make it worse. And it was utterly maddening that he met her three times, and now all she could do was wonder why his eyes were so dark, and his smile, when he allowed it, so luminescent.

Rory shuffled on the sofa next to her, awkwardly trying to put an arm around her, and then retracting it at the last second, feigning reaching for the volume control on the remote instead when she looked up at his movements.

She watched him settle back into the sofa, and pretend to train his eyes on the screen, and wished that her heart did all the cliche things- skipping a beat, or speeding up or _something_. But Rory was just Rory. Attractive in a loveable nerd kind of way, but he didn't set any part of her body racing.

And she could give herself all the time in the world, but she didn't think that was going to change.

"Rory?"

"Hmmm?"

"How much do you like me?"

His eyebrows furrowed over his nose, and he snapped to look at Clara next to him.

"Sorry, you _what_?"

"If you could rate your attraction to me on a school of one to ten, where would you put it?"

He paused the DVD, fingers fumbling on the remote controls as he narrowed his eyes at Clara. "Are you seriously asking me to put a number on you?"

She nodded firmly. "Yes."

"Clara, what the hell?"

Her chest deflated and she sighed heavily. "I was just trying to gauge how horrible I was going to have to be to you, because I hate being mean."

Rory's eyebrow jerked upwards, and he licked his lips nervously.

"Okay now you're scaring me. Possibly more than when you were choking. Please tell me you're not about to do what I think you are."

"Rory…."

"Oh, God you are, aren't you?"

"Rory, I-"

"I didn't even get all the way through my first date with a girl and she's dumping me. Does that even count? Oh my God!" He threw his hands upwards and Clara cringed at the sudden movement.

"I really like you, Rory." she tried, her voice soft, hoping to placate him. It worked some, and his hands fell to his lap with a muted thump.

His voice took on a defeated tone that made Clara's heart feel heavy in her chest. "Sure, yeah, but not like _that_. It's okay, I've heard it before Clara, it's fine."

"A-are you sure? I'm sorry I led you on."

"Hardly, you only agreed to one date, Clara. I'd rather we stop now so you don't have to try and find feelings you don't have." There was barely hidden bitterness there that tugged at Clara's heartstrings; but it was true, she couldn't try and make something out of nothing more than a lovely friendship, even for his sake- it wouldn't be fair.

"I'm so so sorry, Rory."

"I already said it's fine."

"Rory…"

"Clara," he answered flatly, his face and voice totally deadpan.

"Rory, don't be like that…"

"Like what?" He snapped. Then his shoulders sagged, the hint of the fight he was about to start leaving his body. He turned back to look her in the eyes.

"Is there, I mean, another man or-"

"No, no. Of course not." she answered quickly, cutting him off.

He crossed his arms, frowning at her. "You're an awful liar Clara, did you know?"

"I'm not lying," she protested.

"It wouldn't matter if there was- I can take it."

She attempted to level out the stress in her voice, pass it off as nothing. "Rory, I promise there's not."

"You can tell me, it's not like it's a parent or anything-" His face fell. "Oh wait."

Clara paused- panic clouding her mind for a second. Could he guess? What would he think? She didn't think she could handle disapproval from Rory; bear to see disappointment in his eyes.

Instead, his irises just widened.

"Alexis' dad?"

Her face flushed red, and she bit her lip, hard."Wha-what about him?"

"You always talk about him, ever since that first day. If you're attracted to him, I guess it's only natural."

"I-I'm not! I just, want to know more about him. I'm curious"

Rory folded his arms and looked at her sceptically, his eyebrows hidden in his hairline.

"Isn't that the same thing?"

Clara's reply got stuck in her throat, heavy on her tongue, and her mouth shut to trap it of its own accord. Was that the same thing, indeed?

/

The clock on her dashboard blinked red in the dimness of the car interior; not even half nine and she was already heading home. Rory's face as he showed her to the door was etched into the back of her mind- just that weak look of resignation far worse than any anger or irritation he might have had for her.

She had stopped on the doorstep, pausing with her car keys already in hand.

"Rory, please, don't write yourself off'cause of this. You're a wonderful man, and I'm probably the stupid one, okay? I just wasn't ready, and you're great Rory, honestly, some day someone is going to realise what a gem you are- not that i didn't realise it, I just can't appreciate it and…' She sighed 'It's probably better that it's not me, honest."

He smiled weakly, nodding, already inching the door shut behind her. She really couldn't blame him.

"Promise me you'll remember that? Rory,please just promise me?" she insisted, wedging her foot over the threshold so he couldn't give up just yet.

He rolled his eyes, not maliciously, but at her usual bossiness. "Yeah, Clara, I will." His eyes met hers and he sighed. "Promise."

"Good." She hesitated for a second before withdrawing her shoe. "Well good night, Rory. See you Monday, yeah?"

"Monday," he agreed quietly. Clara nodded and slowly climbed down the steps to the street, keeping her shoulders straight. She heard the door click shut behind her.

Now she was driving home, the streetlights on either side of her blurring into orange streaks, throwing odd shadows into the night. The roads were empty, not surprisingly as it was a small town, and she was oddly hypnotised by the quietness of the evening and the amber rays infiltrating into the car. Her mind wandered off the road, back to her conversation with Rory, his poor injured face- his implications about The Doctor; and started running into circles, skidding down alleys of her mind she'd perviously blocked off and left uninhabited, all dead ends leading to The Doctor until just his name was hurting her head.

Was she attracted to The Doctor on more than a superficial level? What did that say about her? Would The Doctor ever open up to her? What could she do to help him? Hundreds of questions, each one allowing a billion more, all expanding in her mind at once, now that she let herself think them. His face flickered in front of her eyes, too, the smile she so rarely saw being conjured up by her imagination until the soft upturn of his lips was all she focussed on. The the street ahead faded into the background against the noise in her mind.

The T-junction barely registered. She indicated without thinking, not stopping where she should've, and swung the wheel left into the darkness.

She didn't notice the oncoming vehicle- until the side of her car buckled and the sound of screeching metal and squealing brakes filled the evening air- right before everything collapsed.

* * *

AN: My poor Rory. Anyway, I hope you liked it! Thoughts?


	5. Chapter 5

Notes: Betad by the wonderful Leah. I am so so sorry this took so long to get up. I know you might hate me. I deserve it.  
Genre: Human AU. Clara as a primary school teacher, Eleven as a single father.  
Rated: T (for now)

**Chapter Five**

Everything was white. An endless canvas of white, with her in the centre, and nothing in every direction. That was the only name Clara could give to it…she was surrounded by a mass of nothingness as far as she could see, in every conceivable direction. It was only when she stepped forward, hand stretched out into the void, that she noticed the blank mist rolling around her feet in gently shifting waves. It drifted through her fingers easily when she bent down to touch it; so insubstantial, but somehow holding her up, keeping her standing. It felt like carpet under her feet, but to the touch was more like water droplets, soaking her skin. And that's all there was.

A cloud, then. Is that where she was? On top of the world, floating on a cloud way up in the atmosphere, high above everything and everyone else. But she wasn't sinking, and clouds are nothing but water vapour- they can't hold up a person- and they don't stretch on forever. She knew she should be able to answer her own questions, that something wasn't quite right, but as soon as she started wondering her head ached a dull throbbing pain, and the questions didn't matter anymore, slipping from her thoughts.

Everything was cool and so so quiet in this isolation she found herself in. A slight wind breezed over her, disturbing the mist it its wake. It was soothing though, the wind, seeming to whisper to her, little gusts at a time, bits of fragmented speech. Once or twice she thought she caught her name drawn out in its breath, but even that seemed to slip away from her. She was grounded by something she couldn't see, and anytime she tried to focus, wrap her mind around the only aspect of this place that seemed familiar, it would fall away, and she was forced to exist in the white again.

After a while, or an hour, or a month- time ceased to exist for her- she could hear something else, mixing in with the wind. A steady, slow but shrill beeping. Something like an alarm clock? And alarm clocks want you to wake up. Maybe it was a sign, maybe she was sleeping, and someone needed her to be awake. That made sense…didn't it? The headache returned.

The sounds continued to drift over and around her, the wind calling, the alarms ringing. She needed to stop dreaming now.

/

Her eyes flickered open, and for a second all she could see was patches of colour, obscuring her visions, lights behind her eyes, but bit by bit, everything started to swim into focus. The white walls of a tiny room formed around her- the window to the left, the rickety hospital bed she was laying in, enveloped in wires and drips, am maze of needles and beeping machines. To her right were monitors that flashed up every shaking breath she took. Her head and chest ached, and she was reminded of her cloud world, already slipping away into the dark nest part of her memory. She had been so sure that had been real, but of course it hadn't been. This was real.

Being in hospital was real.

An IV was slowly feeding into her skin, and she could feel the needle, planted just underneath her skin. Panic started to rise like bile in her throat when she couldn't immediately remember why she was here, or what happened, or who the hell was here with her. Her tongue felt like cardboard when she tried to wrap it around words to call out to whoever maybe was around to hear her. Her voice came out croaky and ever so slightly panicked.

"Hello? Can someone help me? _Hello_?"

Her words did little more than bounce off the white washed walls and echo back to her, and the tidal wave of worry resumed, causing her fingers to fumble with the impossible amount of wires attached to her body, frantically detaching them. She had to get find somebody, someone had to know what happened. She was halfway to swinging her legs out of the bed when there were skidding footsteps right outside her room.

The machines had gone haywire at all the disengaged tubing, a cacophony of whirring noise; and a young man in a white lab-coated blur rushed over to her bedside.

"Clara! Clara, shhh, you need to lay back down. Clara, please."

He rested a gentle but firm hand on her shoulder and Clara felt the adrenalin leave her body, to be replaced by a dull ache, which allowed the man to press a hand to the small of her back and gently lower her to the pillows. Her remained leaning over her, his face contorted with concern- a face she recognised. She blinked.

"_Doctor?_"

A weary smile split his features and he nodded, sweeping some hair from her forehead with his thumb carefully.

"I'm going to assume you know who I am, and not just my occupation. Hello, Miss Oswald." His tone was an attempt at a joke, but his voice cracked ever so slightly down the middle.

Confusion washed over her, and Clara felt hot frustrated tears sting in the back of her eyes. She blinked them away furiously. 'I-I don't understand. What are you doing here?"

The Doctor sighed heavily and straightened up. "Actually, I think the correct phrasing is, what are _you_, Miss Oswald, doing _here?_ This is where I work, you're in my hospital. Do you remember?"

Clara watched through the mist in her eyes as The Doctor turned to set about securing the drips and machines, bending down to fix her IV. His hand cupped hers as he adjusted the needle in her forearm, and she winced.

"Sorry," he muttered.

Clara shook her head at his apology, her lack of memory, and in a vain attempt to shake some understanding into herself. When it didn't work her voice quavered dangerously.

"I can't remember. Please, I don't know where I am…Why can't I remember?"

When he was done the Doctor sat on the edge of her bed and folded his hands in his lap, leaving Clara trying to hold herself together, contain the tears brimming in her eyes. Finally, he started speaking, his voice soft and smooth, like he'd talk to Alexis. Rather than being patronised, Clara was comforted, just a little bit. His voice felt warm and kind. "Clara, you're in Greater Heath General Hospital. There's something you need to know,

You were in a car crash. You suffered severe head trauma, and you keep on slipping in and out of consciousness, each time forgetting the crash and any other subsequent events. It's like your mind has got stuck, before the crash, and keeps on rewinding to that point." He licked his lips and looked at her sadly, the corners of his mouth twisted downwards. "I'm afraid to say we've had this conversation before."

Clara's eyes widened and her heart stuttered, the wave of panic intensifying. "We have?" Then, as she tried to collect herself, "Can you help me? Can you make me better?"

"We're doing everything we can, my team and I, but we've never seen a case like yours before. You're perfectly coherent on everything else, but you just keep on re-setting your mind." He looked at her steadily, but his voice dropped to little more than a whisper. "By all rights, you should be dead, the force with which the other vehicle hit you…." He squeezed her eyes shut, just for a second, and Clara felt her breath hitch in her throat at the troubled look on his face. "You shouldn't even be here, Clara."

It was absurd, that this man she could only remember having jarred conversations with was now treating and tending to her, sitting at her bedside with more emotion playing across his face than he'd ever displayed freely before. Over her. Telling her she shouldn't be alive, looking traumatised by the very thought of it. But she wasn't, she was here, and The Doctor was a unguarded as she'd ever seen him. She didn't understand what had changed, but her hand crept forward to take his anyway and she squeezed it lightly. Her face twisted into a wry smile.

"So I'm the amnesiac who cheated death, am I?"

"No," he said, returning the pressure a little, thumb sweeping over the back of her hand, "You're my impossible girl. The only mystery worth solving."

* * *

AN: Hello, so this story took quite a turn. I hope you're still enjoying it and catch all my references :) If you're confused right now about their relationship- good! All will be revealed next chapter! Thoughts, people?


	6. Chapter 6

Notes: Betad by the wonderful Leah. I didn't die, yay! Life, man. Always gets in the way. I apologise.  
Genre: Human AU. Clara as a primary school teacher, Eleven as a single father.  
Rated: T (for now)

**Chapter Six**

Soon The Doctor had fallen back to his old, serious, sad self and wouldn't talk about her condition any further, for fear of worrying her. It only made Clara frustrated and annoyed- left to stew in her hospital bed. He slipped away, telling her softly to get some rest.

"And if I sleep, will I forget?"

He paused at the doorway, hand hovering over the handle. "It's possible."

So she vowed to stay awake, pinching herself when her eyelids got heavy, and going back through her last memories of her evening out- try and force some order back into her thoughts. She'd been round Rory's to see a film- and it had been _awful_, so she'd left early. Her cheeks flushed pink when she recalled the exact reason that date had been a write off- it had nothing to do with poor Rory, and everything to do with her mind's insistence to linger on The Doctor. She'd tried to give Rory a chance, she really had, right? But it hadn't worked, despite her best efforts, so she'd excused herself and driven home. Only she hadn't arrived there, had she? Instead she ended up here- bruised, aching, and an amnesiac. The last thing she remembered was driving along the street, orange with the glow of street lamps. Then her mind hit a brick wall, and not matter how hard she clawed at it, furiously trying to remember, nothing seemed to budge.

Shortly, The Doctor returned carrying a clipboard and wearing what looked like round tortoiseshell reading glasses. He peered down at her through them, and she heaved herself up on her pillows, ignoring the pain.

"Ah, you're still awake."

She nodded defiantly, although his tone implied he wasn't annoyed that she'd ignored his advice, but not exactly thrilled either.

"You do need sleep, Clara. Although much better, your body still needs time to repair itself around the edges. It's not guaranteed that if you fall asleep, you'll forget. It's happened before, for a couple of days. You remained conscious, aware of your memories that long."

Clara's bottom lip caught under her teeth, "I don't like the possibility."

"I know," he replied.

She pushed herself further off the pillows, and The Doctor paused in scribbling down some readings to raise an eyebrow in her direction. "Careful, Clara."

She rolled her eyes and dismissed his warning. "Can we talk?"

He nodded and put the clipboard down, slipping his pen into the breast pocket of his coat. "What do you want to talk about this time?"

"This time?"

The Doctor gave her a lopsided smile. "Sorry, I'm not doing a very good job explaining this to you, am I? Clara, think of your mind as like a tape-recorder, keeping track of your life. It's not a linear it's more of acrumpled, timey-wimey thing, and you're memory has hit a twist and got stuck there, and keeps rewinding to a specific point- your car accident. So yes, we've talked about a lot of things. You probably don't remember, but it's okay. We're working to make sure one day you will."

Her eyebrows furrowed over her her nose. "This is so weird, someone telling me what I've done…"

His eyes softened at the confusion on her face. "I know it can be difficult, and I'm sorry."

He settled himself in the plastic chair next to her and she looked over at him, deciding to talk to him anyway. "I remember how I got here, almost. I remember driving home from Rory' house- that's when it happened, right?" She left out the bit about thinking about him, and the fact it was a date for reasons she didn't want to focus on.

He nodded. "Ah, yes- Rory. You should know he's been a constant visitor here, comes every other day, regular as clockwork. I don't think I mentioned it before."

The thought of Rory visiting her, sitting vigil by her bedside, probably eaten up by guilt when it was entirely not his fault made her heart beat uncomfortably.

"He does? How long have I been here, Doctor?"

"Around a month now. Rory never misses a visit, you're lucky to have him."

The Doctor ducked his head, but Clara started to splutter and he jerked upwards immediately groping for the cup of water by her bedside and handing it to her.

"What's the matter? _Clara?_"

"He's not- Rory and I, we're not together," she said weakly.

"Oh."

The Doctor put the cup back on the table looking embarrassed, but the look of panic subsided to be replaced for a split second with what Clara could have sworn was relief.

"Well you might want to tell him that, next time he comes, stop leading the poor boy on."

Clara's fists curled in her bed sheets and she sat up a little straighter, frowning indignantly. "Hey, I'm not leading him on, he's just a good friend. He knows that."

The Doctor snorted, but quickly shut up when she glared at him. Clara felt a change of subject was needed.

"How's the school? Who's teaching Alexis if I'm in here?"

"The place isn't falling apart without you just yet. They've got a sub in. She's alright from what I hear, but Lexi keeps on asking about you."

Clara was genuinely touched. Alexis was her favourite pupil, but she wasn't always sure the love was returned, for all the sass Alexis gave her. "She does?"

"Mmhmm. Couple of nights when I've been working late with you, Jenny's picked her up from school and bought her here to see you for a bit, actually."

Clara frowned. "Jenny?"

"My next door neighbour, yes." He raised his eyebrows. "She and her wife, Mrs Vastra, love Lexi to bits- spoil her rotten to be honest. They look after her when I really can't be there."

Now it was Clara's turn to feel stupid, and she attempted to salvage the conversation, albeit a little flustered.

"I'm- I'm sorry I'm keeping you from your family."

"I'm a volunteer, the very definition means I'm here because I want to be. I'm trying to help you, Clara."

She smiled at his words, letting her lips twist upwards. "Well then, I appreciate the effort."

"I'd say anytime, but I really wouldn't like to see you in here again after we've got you all fixed up," he teased, and Clara rolled her eyes.

"So apart from the whole memory thing, why am I still in here?"

The Doctor shook his head amusedly. "All in good time Clara. You bruised a couple or rips, which probably explains the dull ache in your chest, you've had a knock to your basilar, which we're keeping an eye on for further complications if they so arise, and you also have some slight contusions along your cranium that we're waiting to heal. In all, and I'm sorry for this, it's just easier to keep you in this private wing."

Clara raised her eyebrows at the speed at which the words tumbled out of his mouth. "Okay non-medical language please? Basilar?"

He smiled at her exasperation apologetically. "The base of your skull- you got a few bruises all over and we're watching so they keep healing and don't turn nasty."

"They could do that?" Clara asked worriedly, slightly panicked.

"It's very unlikely. If they were we would have probably found something by now, so I wouldn't worry."

Clara let the breath whistle out of her lungs in relief. "So what do we do about the memory thing?" she asked. She was attempting to be practical about this whole thing, because she could tell herself right now that freaking out wasn't going to get her anywhere. In fact she didn't have to have any sort of medical knowledge to know that it would probably only block any improvement due to high levels of anxiety. She looked at The Doctor hopefully, eyes wide and he ventured a small smile.

"We're actually giving you treatment for that- there's not really a medical procedure that follows your kind of injury. We're- I guess I mean _I'm- _talking to you quite often in the hope one our conversations will trigger your memory, or you'll be able to recall them later." he explained, gesticulating as he talked, broad sweeps of expressive hands. Clara followed them as they sliced through the air and then let her eyes rest on his face, creased with what looked like fatigue.

"I'm- I'm sorry, I don't….I can't remember any of that." Her face crumpled, and she stared intently at her pale fingers, trying to squash the sudden embarrassment she felt at her condition. It was obvious The Doctor was trying, so why was she still like this? Why couldn't she help herself? When her mother had died, no disrespect to her father, but she'd had to grow up rather quickly, and since had become fiercely independent. She had always been her own self contained person, so it was an uncomfortable feeling to be suddenly vulnerable again, like a child. She felt as if her own mind was betraying her.

The Doctor's hand crept to cover her own for the briefest of seconds. "You can do it, Clara. One of these times, it'll work. I promise."

"_Promise_ promise?" she replied, a thin watery smile sliding across her face.

The Doctor held up his hand. "I can do one better, I can pinky promise." He waggled his little finger at her and she chuckled and met it with her own, entwining them together.

"Now you're stuck with me."

The Doctor just laughed. Clara could feel the aches in her chest a little more now, and knew that probably meant she was tired, but she was afraid of the consequence of sleeping, and it was good to talk to someone, especially The Doctor. She fought against it and rearranged herself slowly against her pillows. "Can you talk to me now? One of our conversations?" she asked quietly.

"If you're not tired…"

"I'm not."

He raised his eyebrows like he didn't believe her, but didn't press the issue. Instead he relaxed into the chair and crossed his legs, one lanky foot resting on the opposite knee. Purple brogues peeked out from under his lab coat, and Clara was glad to find that his eccentric fashion taste, at least, hadn't changed. "Okay," he said slowly. "Pick a topic. What do you think you might remember the most? After all _you_ know yourself the best out of anyone. Perhaps something that you'll link back to before the crash."

Her bottom lip snagged under her teeth as she hopped from one subject area to another. She couldn't talk about Rory, although he was obviously the person most connected to events prior the crash because she didn't want a repeat of earlier. She almost attempted to talk about her mother, but conversations like that always seemed to run in a cycle of 'I'm sorry's and 'it was a long time ago's and awkward silences nobody could fill. She suspected The Doctor might be different, but still, when she concentrated on it, her head ached in tender spots. She didn't want to talk all that much, only listen. She wanted The Doctor to tell her stories of himself, explain just the kind of man he was, because God knows she couldn't figure him out.

"Tell me about you." she said eventually, her voice firm. "You're…you're so different from what I can remember of before- when you talked to me with Alexis."

The Doctor shrugged, a broad dip in his shoulders, almost wincing. "Clara- I- there was a reason I was so distant before. It's not…good for me, I don't think, or you, for us to be close. It would have been better if I'd stayed that way…"

He tailed off and looked down at feet. Clara raised her eyebrows, and even in her hospitalised state, crossed her arms across her tender chest. She may look like a petulant child, but she was resigned to learn something about this man, take away his mysterious aura once and for all. Nothing was going to stop her.

"Well it's kind of too late now, isn't it?" she said sharply. "I'm in here now and you're looking after me, and whatever relationship we had has changed. I think I can say we're close, so you may as well tell me something about yourself. Bloody hell, I don't even know your name."

Her tone was scathing and it made The Doctor shrink back in his chair, wishing to be enveloped by the cushions just to avoid her glare. He closed his eyes, squeezed them tight shut and willed himself to keep calm, collected.

"Clara, I- I have few skeletons in the closet." His word choice was joking, but his expression was creased and haggard. She almost dropped the subject, but the hint of steel in her backbone had already been tapped against and she wasn't inclined to giving up. He needed to talk about it. She knew from the struggle in his face that he hadn't broached this subject for a while, years maybe. She'd been told by enough bereavement officers and countless guidance counsellors herself that talking helped alleviate some of the pain. She'd never really listened- talking to a woman in a pastel suit who only pretended to be interested wasn't going to help anyone- but she'd since learnt that it was the person you needn't to look out for. Someone who cared, someone not to pass judgement, but just to understand. And she thought she could fill that role.

"Doesn't everyone? Doctor, _please_. Maybe I'll remember." Her eyes were narrowed, and he knew to deny her demand could potentially be dangerous, and maybe this could be the conversation that finally stuck in the spokes her of her mind, letting everything flood back. So he sighed and let the breath seep through his lungs, giving him time to think. Giving him time to pull himself together, square his shoulders, start unpacking all the boxes he'd hidden the last memories he had of his old friends. Clara looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to start talking, but where to begin? He knew she didn't want mundane details of his life, even if he was willing to give them to her.

No, what she wanted was an explanation. And that would require time, and just a little bit of pain on his part.

He sucked in a breath, grasping for confidence, the ability to talk about all this, like it was floating in the stale hospital air around him, and when he could find none, he started to speak anyway. A slow voice, as steady as he could make it, like telling a story to a child after a long hard day. But everyone is a story. He was, Clara was; their chapters had not yet been finished, but he knew so many people, too many people, that had sealed up their stories long ago.

"So you heard I had a wife. She was incredible. There's really no other word for her. But I think- if you really want to understand- then we need to go back a bit. To university. I was studying medicine, and on the course with me was a girl. And her name was Rose…"

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an: and here we go, ladies and gentleman. i hope you liked it. please please let me know what you thought :)


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